Underneath it All
by ceemonster
Summary: Musical-verse. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE SHOW! Elphie angst just before the story ends.


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Title: Underneath it All  
Arthor: Cate/Caitlinda/Little Bird  
Rating: PG (angst, some swearing)  
Codes: Elphie angst, minor Fiyeraba  
Feedback: Welcome and appreciated  
Archive: Just let me know where you put it.   
  
WARNING!!! - DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE SHOW!!! MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!  
  
  
Thanks to Jae and Gyps for all their help with this story and everyone else who encouraged me, especially my not!girlfriend. Teehee... you know who you are.   
  
  
  
On to the fic....

Underneath it All 

Black. 

Trapped in this prison, that's all there is . . . Black in front of me. Black behind me. Beside me. Over me, under me . . .

Inside me. 

For I am Wicked.

At least . . . that is what I am said to be. 

The Wicked Witch. 

My green skin is no more than an outward manifestation of the darkness that looms within me. A void; empty of all feelings and emotions. No cares. No worries. No fears. No hopes. Only black. 

I did care once. I cared every time I was called some horrible name by a cruel child; made to sit alone on the playground, beneath the shade of some ancient oak, or ducking rocks tossed at the "lizard-faced girl." I cared when my father would shun me or my sister would scold me for being only who I was, words more scathing then any blow. Scars, though not all physical, still ache as if new. I often found it amazing how attention and neglect could be equally damaging . . . 

Only two people ever cared enough to look past what the others seemed so fixated on; past the emerald skin, past the wall I had built around my heart to keep the pain at bay. One of them, a victim of my shortcomings . . . the other, someone who cannot know I live. 

I sit, knees bent to chest beneath the floors of Kiamo Ko, waiting for Fiyero to come, and I can't help but hate myself for the pain I have caused others throughout my life.

My parents were cursed with a daughter as green as sin. A child who was supposed to be the next governor of Munchkinland; spoiled by some force unknown perhaps even to the Unnamed God. Before I could even speak, I bought disgrace upon those who bore me; upon the name of the Thropps who had come before me. Desperate for the same disaster not to befall again, my father forced my mother to chew milkflowers day after day throughout her second pregnancy. . . an action that cost Melena her life, Frex a wife, and the poor baby, my Nessarose, her ability to walk. 

And all because of me . . . and the cursed hue of my skin.

My childhood was hell. With my mother buried, my father grew to hate me even more; ignored me and treated me only slightly better than a common house plant. All of his attentions and affections were directed to Nessa, though I cannot remember ever wishing ill to the crippled baby, whose legs were so tangled in birth. She was my doll; a precious toy in my young mind, left in my charge while my father went about his duties. I would tend to her needs, trying to fill the role of the woman whose death I was told I caused . . .a task that would result in my following her to her early entrance into Shiz University . . .

And the subsequent horrors that came after. 

Perhaps everything would have been fine if my presence never graced the learned halls. But as the Time Dragon dictated, Shiz was the place where my greatest down falls stemmed from. Dr. Dillamond . . .Boq . . . Nessa . . . 

Fiyero . . . 

Everything I touched rotted and spoiled no matter how much I wanted to do things for good. To make Oz better for the Animals and for everyone.

But especially for me.

I admit freely now, as I shiver in the damp recesses of an all but forgotten castle, that I was at fault in my desire to be accepted as normal. That is why I failed. That is why I deserved to hang from the gallows in the center of the Emerald City, under the malicious eyes of the Wizard and his Press Secretary.

Though I didn't. My neck wasn't fit for such an end. No, I had the mark of one meant to drown so it seemed. 

Soldiers stormed the castle, hunting me as children with sticks would a snake in a pasture. Only the guards were armed with a far less effective weapon. One fueled by and lies, perpetuated by those who had branded me the enemy. 

A bucket of water carried by a farm girl was to be my undoing. Water to melt a soul so unclean. . . to kill the Wicked Witch and end her reign of terror in Oz.

And they succeeded.

I am dead. At least to the thousands of people who now celebrate their emancipation from the panic the words "Elphaba Thropp" could inflict upon the bravest of souls. Like something out of a child's story, my name was twisted into something hideous and vicious. A monster created by those more horrid than any tale could capture. For they were the ones whose lies caused chaos and rebellion. The Wizard, with his conjuring of a "common enemy" who were no more victims of his treacherous regime then I was. The Animals of Oz were going silent and all because of one man's political agenda in which he used power to seduce and corrupt the weak and strong alike, to bring them into his service, no matter their sex or creed . . . or age.

Sweet Oz, we were nothing more than children; Galinda, Nessa, Boq, Fiyero and I. Students with visions for a more prosperous Oz. Each with a full life ahead of us, with hopes and dreams waiting to be fulfilled.

We didn't know just how vulnerable those dreams were. . .or how vulnerable we were.

Bonds of family and friends could not save us from the wrath of the Wizard; could not keep him from destroying all I held sacred in my life. What few joys I was allowed by the Unnamed God, he snatched away one by one. 

Silent tears begin to course down my cheeks. My heartache is too strong to be ignored any longer. Alone, I am finally able to grieve. 

Nessa . . .so beautiful, so young. You were a happy child once, content to sit in Frex's lap, cooing and laughing while he doted upon you. No tears will I allow myself to shed on his account, save for the wickedness he instilled in both our hearts, not only for ourselves, but for each other. How you were corrupted, as I was . . . molded into something that was never meant to be, and how your life was stolen away in an act to trap me. I will never be able to forgive myself for that, my dear Nessa. I failed to protect you as I swore I would. And now my existence goes on, why the beauty of yours was a tragically cut short. Nessa, it wasn't your time . . . you should never have been made to pay for my shortcomings. 

Boq. . . I should have never brought that book into the house. Should never had let her near it. Should have tried harder to find some other way to save you. You were innocent in all this mess, having done nothing but love, and in doing so, lost the ability to. By saving your life, I damned it. And damned myself along with it.

Dr. Dillamond . . . that glorious and brilliant voice forever silenced by the powers of the Wizard. A teacher, though more than just. You helped me become more comfortable with my uniqueness. Gave me a purpose, a goal to work toward. . . a goal I failed to achieve, just as I failed you. Failed everyone.

Small drops continue to trickle down from the floor above me, splashing against the top of my head and mingling with the salty rivers that flow down my cheeks and off the pointed chin, adding to the damp spots that still cover my dress. Perhaps a little less water would have been better for the charade. . .as less tears would be better for my sanity, even as two more faces float before my blurred vision.

Glinda . . . the first person ever to show me I was more than what was presented on the outside, even if the outside was all she was fixated on. The first person I could ever truly call friend. Blonde. Beautiful. Popular. Everything I was not . . .nor could be. What a pair we made! Pink and green, though she swore the two colors complimented each other. 

Her sobs still echo in my mind, fresh as if she is weeping over my grave once more. I can almost picture my former roommate, ivory cheeks streaked with tears. How many had been spilt this night from her hazel eyes . . . not just for me, but for Fiyero and herself? I hate myself for lying to her like this, for causing her so much pain . . .but it is the only way I can save her. How I wish I could have given her some signal, some sign that I still lived as she wept not two feet above me.

Only that blasted hat and my mother's green bottle could I leave behind for her as a token of what we had shared. The young Galinda seemed so fond of the latter; glimmering with a glow from its own inner light . . . perhaps Glinda the Good would be able to see past the surface of the bottle, as she had with me, and find some piece of mind, some comfort. 

I shift uncomfortably in the cramped space, the stiffness of my muscles making me wonder just how long I have been in hiding . . . how much longer until my prince would arrive to rescue me from this claustrophobic nightmare? 

Fiyero. . . Yero, my Hero. The man who desired meover the life of comfort he was born into and was expected to marry into. Someone like Glinda would have been a much more suitable mate by society's standards, but he chose me. Me. The hideous green monstrosity that plagued the country that caused such commotion and pain with my actions. Certainly not what a man of Fiyero's status deserves. Deserved. Thanks to me, he really doesn't have much choice now. 

But he wasn't dead. At least, he wasn't a few hours ago as our plan commenced. Eyes met as that little brat hurled my death sentence, effectively melting me for all purposes. But the Prince's gaze, even in his new altered state, never left mine, as I sank to the floor, then under, hidden away beneath the smokey cover. That handsome face and loving hands, gone. All because of me. . . Lurline, I can never forgive myself.

He would have been better off if I had never been born. All of them would have. Nessa, Boq, Glinda, Fiyero. . . all of you would have gone about your lives happy and healthy and whole if it were not for me. Not for the wickedness I carried, the commotions I caused. The pain and sorrow and death and fear. You've all suffered because of me; all of Oz has. 

I think back to the many times I'd almost given into the dark voices, the ones that told me to simply end it. I should have listened. Should have obeyed and none of this would have happened. But I didn't. I was too much of a coward, and where has it gotten me? Stuck in a mildewy hole, alone. Again. 

Too much time has passed, and I begin to fear this was all in vain. That Fiyero has been captured . . . that somehow someone caught on and has taken matters into their own hands. First Fiyero, then me. Someone would come. But the question was who? Little do I know the answer is looming over head as I begin to dread my fate once more. 

A noise thunders above me, pulling me from the black thoughts, causing my heart to pound and my breath to still. My eyes drop shut, fear as chilling as the cold, damp air around me. Footsteps of a lover or enemy, I can't tell, but they draw closer, causing the muscle in my chest to beat faster until I think it will betray me, echoing loudly through the empty halls of Kiamo Ko. The disturbance stops just above my head, replaced by another, louder and more demanding one that forces me to draw back, hide within myself before the darkness is lifted; the light of the small fires from above blinding me momentarily. 

And all I can hope is that. . . 

"It worked!"


End file.
